Premature Retirement
by pouncepounce
Summary: Set pre-ME2, Thane attempts to disappear from the underworld and retire to a remote colony. As it turns out, people in his profession can't exactly leave too easily. The hunter becomes the hunted when an assassin is hired and sent after Thane.


Turning on the warm water, I rinse the green blood off of my tactical knife at the wash basin, its familiar viscosity forcing me to rub my fingers hard against the sides of the blade. Once I am satisfied with the rinsing, I look up, away from the knife and towards the mirror to check if any of the blood had gotten onto my face. My shoulder length, plainly cut brown hair covers my pale skinned head. Unassuming, almost childish. I wear no expression and, mostly importantly, no blood splatters.

Returning my knife to its sheath, hidden within the inside of my black leather jacket, I turn away from the basin and back towards the salarian corpse sprawled out, face up on the floor, still leaking green from the hole I made in its chest. I came from behind, of course.

I feel a sense of pride in my work. The pool of blood, slowly getting larger, fills more and more of the room, both in terms of space and metallic aroma. I step away from the encroaching green so as to not get any of it onto my shoes.

I take my leave.

As I leave the public restroom, I am greeted once again by the loud thudding bass of Afterlife. The bright neon lights make the asari dancers' skin look slightly pink as they please their customers. The alcohol gives the area a nearly clinical smell, a stark contrast to the reality of Omega. Walking past the crowd of dancers and over to an empty stool by the bar counter, I activate my omnitool and transmit a message to my employer.

 _AS: It is done._

As I am just about to take my seat, my omnitool pings to notify me of a message, which I open immediately, still hovering above the stool.

 _437: Acknowledged. Credits have been wired._

It was quick; other clients usually take at least a few minutes to send me my payments. Geth are an exception, I guess. Yet to take my seat, I move away from the bar and head towards the stairs to the upper floor. No point staying here any longer. I kept my arrival on this station covert by using public transport, but it's better to take as few chances as possible with Aria.

Looking straightforward to make sure that no one suspicious, especially the _queen_ herself, gets a good look at my face, I make my way through the upper floor, past the asari dancers performing on the central stage and out the exit, where the music within the night club is subdued once the doors close behind. Without the alcohol to mask it, Omega's grimy scents fill my sinuses in a strong wave, which ironically takes my mind off of the kill and brings something entirely unrelated to my attention; my appetite. Feeling a little peckish, I notice that it's been nine hours since my last meal, so I decide to go and get something to eat before I head off to the transport hub.

I walk to the market district, a short distance from Afterlife, and enter the first makeshift shop that I see. It looks dingy and broken down, just like all of the other buildings on this rock; unremarkable. The interior is not much different, but admittedly, it is larger than it looks from the outside. Several meters to my right, there are three separate stalls, two of which are filled by lone batarian customers, and in front of me, the quarian shopkeeper behind a counter with several old looking yet well maintained stools.

I approach the shopkeeper, who greets me politely as I arrive at the counter, "Welcome. What can I get for you today?"

I look past the shopkeeper and towards the wall behind her, stuck with shelves full of different snacks and drinks, labelled with their respective prices. Scanning for a moment from left to right, I find what I'm looking for; a military grade ration bar for 10 credits. I point to the bar, returning my gaze to the quarian's visor, "One ration bar."

The shopkeeper tilts her head slightly, as if confused or unnerved about something, but the motion only lasts for a moment as she gathers herself quickly and replies almost cheerfully, "Sure thing. That'll be 10 credits."

I notice a coffee machine behind her as she moves from her position behind the counter to fetch me the bar, "And a long black too."

The shopkeeper turns back at me as she reaches for the bar, "That'll be three credits extra. Omni transfer or chit?"

"Omni," I reply, sending her 13 credits via my omnitool as she hands me my meal.

Her omnitool pings as it receives my payment and she moves back towards the coffee machine to make me my drink. She mumbles what I assume to be a curse in a frustrated voice after waiting for a few moments, "I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to wait for a couple of minutes. The machine's being a bit slow today."

I give no verbal reply, sitting down on the stool and leaning on the counter, peeling the silvery wrapping off of the bar and taking a small bite; flavourless, dry and familiar. The quarian returns to her default position behind the counter, standing across from me while I eat in comfortable silence.

Eventually she speaks, "So, what are you up to today?"

I must admit, this bothers me, and I now regret not sitting at one of the booths. It was a mistake, both for me and for her. Her body language shows that she is feeling casual and I look into her visor, but of course, I can't see much other than the reflection of my own male human features. "Excuse me?" I reply with a question of my own.

She tenses a little and pauses, before giving a nervous shrug, "Just passing the time."

"Just passing the time," I echo in a whisper, contemplating how this quarian must have lived her life until this point.

This bothers me even more.

I take another bite from my ration bar, chewing and swallowing, all the while maintaining eye, or visor, contact with her. "What are _you_ up to today?"

The quarian shifts, her shoulders tensing up a little more, but other than that she looks still, a rarity for her expressive species. "Nothing much," she replies, trying to sound matter of fact, "Just serving customers."

"What about yesterday, and the day before that?" I ask, lowering my bar for a moment, "Just more of the same?"

"Something like that," the shopkeeper replies plainly. She links her hands together in front of her stomach, fidgeting a little, before clearing her chokingly dry throat.

She looks young, probably in her early twenties. "Aren't you on your pilgrimage? What are you doing working in a place like this?"

"I _was_ ," the quarian replies softly, "But then I met my boyfriend. This is _his_ place, actually." She looks down onto the counter, then back up to face me again.

"You gave up and found an easy way out?" I inquire, sounding almost a little stern, attempting to pierce through her visor with my gaze, "What about the Flotilla?"

The quarian pauses for a moment at the mention of her homeland. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I gave up," she replies, sounding a little defiant, giving a nervous chuckle in defensive resignation.

"Right," I give a small smile, leaning back on my seat, expanding the space between us, "Just going with the flow."

Aimless.

Undignified.

Dishonourable.

I lean back in to close the distance again and take a final bite from my ration bar and place the empty and scrunched up rapper on the counter, chewing and swallowing quickly so that I could speak, "Well, now you're at a crossroads."

"Sir?" the quarian replies in confusion and in slight fear, tightening the grip between her hands.

"A _crossroads_ , and _you_ ," I point at her with my index finger, "have to choose which path to take." I turn to my right and nod at the two other customers sitting in their booths and eating their meals, oblivious to our conversation. They're seemingly unarmed and unarmoured. "Choose which one."

"Sir?" she asks again, but this time around her voice is hoarse and unsure. Being out of her comfort zone must be a rarity for her.

I feel rage, fury. I control it.

"Did you turn deaf?" I mock in a controlled tone, " _Choose which one."_ I lean in even closer and attempt to peer into her visor again, to which she seems to steel herself for something, but she doesn't know why.

"Choose for what?" she asks in a near whisper, making sure that her other customers do not hear.

"You know", I nod my head down towards her, "Just choose. One or the other."

A long moment passes as we just look into each other, her in contemplation and me in hidden but frustrated anticipation. The only sound filling the gap is the faint noise of the other customers eating their meals. Finally, she breaks the silence for the second time, "No."

"Rejection _isn't_ an option anymore," I respond, "You've been doing it your whole life."

This time, there is no contemplation, "No." She sounds almost desparate.

I take a moment to look at her and survey my surroundings; the two other customers are still unaware of what is happening. Then, one last look at the faint image of the two eyes behind her visor.

I reach into my jacket and take out my M-11 Suppressor heavy pistol, pointing it at the quarian. Before she can even register the weapon being held right into her face, I pull the trigger, sending a lone slug straight through her visor and out the back of her head. Her body flops and drops like a ragdoll, crumpling to the floor, now nothing more than a wrapped up pile of flesh.

The two batarians, now finally aware of what is happening, give me looks of mild shock for a few moments, during which I lower my firearm and place it back in its holster. The three of us look at each other for a few long seconds, until eventually, one after the other, they resume their meals.

My omnitool pings as I get up from my seat; I've received a message from a frequent client. The title reads _NEW JOB_.

* * *

It was as much as a man like himself could ask for; retirement. He had regrets of course, everyone did, but for the first time in decades, he could finally say that he was at peace. Every day, the sun would rise and set, uneventfully, as he spent his last remaining days basking in his old memories of his late wife and his son; the time they had spent together, while short, was his lone and precious treasure.

Thane had finally managed to escape the world of bloodshed and hunting, for good this time, his body and soul remerged back together into a perfect harmony. For now and hopefully for the rest of his dwindling lifespan, he was hidden and under the radar of those that might go after him. As far as he knew, his son was also well hidden, and despite the pain he felt at the thought of not seeing his son again while they were both in this world as a result of his failure as a father, he was glad that at least he would be safe from those who would try to go after him, like they had hunted Irikah.

Eventually, he would cross the ocean and be able to be together with them, as a family, under the blessings of Kalahira.

Thane sensed a presence behind him, a skill he had honed over the years. Footsteps, sounding exactly like those of Lusia.

"Hey Selo," the asari greeted him casually as she entered his field of view, letting go of a large and apparently heavy rucksack as she took the seat next to him.

"Lusia," Thane replied simply, finally getting accustomed to being addressed by the fake name he had given himself.

They shared a moment together in silence as they both looked out into the beautiful sunset, as the hot Chalkhos winds blew gently into their faces; as a drell, the heat and dryness were comfortable, but Thane was unsure if Lusia could say the same.

"So," the asari broke the silence, "You want to try some _fresh_ produce?" Lusia turned to look at the drell, who blinked seemingly in contemplation, before putting on a grin. "It _won't_ kill you."

"Yes please," Thane replied with a small yet genuine grin of his own, leaning back further into his seat, "I am sure it will not kill me. Only concerned about the taste."

"Believe me, so am I," Lusia said in deflection, "That's why _you're_ going to be my lab rat." She dug her hand into the rucksack, which upon opening, released the sweet aroma of its contents, grabbing and tossing one of the fruits over to Thane.

"Comforting," Thane mumbled as he caught the fruit without moving his gaze away from the sunset, the distant star travelling further and further down the horizon over each passing moment. But the sweet smell was something he could not resist. Carrying his hand to his mouth, he gave a brief look at the fruit before he took a bite, not truly worried about his wellbeing or the taste. Lusia's produce was always good and this time around was no different.

Small moments like these were the ones that Thane cherished nowadays, reflecting on his thoughts as the flavours filled his mouth. Delicious.

Lusia had been good to him when he had first arrived at the small colony. In fact, all of them had welcomed him into their community, no questions asked, because they understood.

He had first heard about this colony only as a rumour; a place for _people like him_ to retire, to leave. _To turn over a new leaf,_ the human idiom came to his mind.

It was a close community; even the non-drell, who weren't afforded perfect memories, knew each other by name, yet it was open to newcomers.

For a brief moment, he wondered what Lusia's past profession was. Slaver? Smuggler? Assassin?

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the asari in question. "So," Lusia drawled, "Don't keep me waiting. How is it?"

"It is good, Lusia," Thane replied, "I believe you are on a streak with the number of days you have impressed me with your produce."

"Of course it's good. Who do you think I am?" Lusia proclaimed as she crossed her arms with a playfully triumphant expression. "So, you want me to leave some by your doorstep?"

Thane gave her a look of mild surprise.

"On the house," Lusia said with a wink and a charming smile.

"I would like that very much, Lusia," Thane replied, smiling, "Thank you."

A few months ago, if someone had told him that he would one day be retired and be receiving gifts of fruits from friendly neighbours, he, Thane Krios, would have _laughed_.

But now here he was, receiving the fruits of someone's labour, quite literally, in exchange for nothing.

Free of charge.

Thane's world had changed, almost uncomfortably so, strangely. He had grown so accustomed to looking over his shoulder, keeping people at arm's length and living in a world of ulterior motives, this peaceful lifestyle made him feel almost as if he were left behind. Perhaps it was time for him to catch up. Perhaps it was time for _him_ to change.

"Actually, could you please do me a favour and put them on my table?" Thane asked, feeling almost nervous for the first time in years.

"You're door isn't locked?" Lusia inquired, sounding a little surprised.

"It is," Thane replied, fiddling with his omnitool, "Here, I'll transfer you the key."

Lusia's omnitool pinged as it received the digital key to Thane's prefab. She paused for a moment, contemplating and understanding what this meant for him, as she went through a similar process herself when _she_ had first arrived at the colony.

"Right," the asari said with a strange determination to deliver the fruits without fail, "They'll be there when you get home." She rose from her seat and heaved up her rucksack again, stretching her legs for the journey ahead.

"Much appreciated," Thane called from over his shoulder as he watched her walk away at a brisk and bouncy pace, admiring her ability to carry that heavy a load with such a small frame.

* * *

This colony disgusts me. An abomination full of cowards dishonourable enough to abandon their callings for an _easy_ way out. I look around the repair shop I found near the location where I landed my shuttle. The salarian mechanic is looking at me in anticipation.

"Good afternoon, sir! You came just in time," the mechanic greeted heartily, drumming his fingers on the counter. "We're just about to close. How can I help? Trouble with that nice looking shuttle of yours?"

I ignore his remark. "Do you know of any drell living around here?"

Suddenly, the salarian narrows his eyes and I can see a glint of suspicion in those deep black eyes. "Can't say I have," he replies slowly, almost cautiously, "You looking for anyone specifically?"

I don't reply and instead I merely stare into his face, boring into his eyes with mine, as I step closer to the counter. I repeat my question, a little slowly this time, "Do you know of any drell living around here?"

"No," the salarian replies quickly, his previous warmth now completely gone, "Now if that's all, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir. We're closing now."

I give him one last brief look, one _last_ chance, but he doesn't change he stance, nor does he open his mouth to speak, so I turn around and head to the door and I can feel him lower his emotional guard.

If _he_ won't tell me, then his omnitool will. I just have to unlock it first.

"Oh, by the way, do you know how hot it's going to get tomorrow?" I turn around and ask casually, "I'd look it up myself, but my omnitool broke on the way here."

"Oh," the salarian replies, sounding a little taken aback, before he activates and unlocks his omnitool, "Well, usually it's hot all -"

I interrupt him with a shot to the head from my silenced handgun, causing his body to crumple to the floor. I once again approach the counter and vault over it to land beside the body, making sure that I don't land on the green blood slowly spreading around it. Taking out my hunting knife from within my jacket, I precisely detach the salarian's forearm to which the omnitool is attached to, from the rest of his body. Once I complete the severing, I perch myself up on the counter while holding the forearm so that the blood doesn't leak down onto my pants.

I look through the unlocked omnitool, scouring for information, until I eventually arrive at a folder named _Customer Details,_ which contains all of the information with which the mechanic must have had dealt with over the years. I refine the search parameters. _Race: Drell._

One individual named Selos Dan, male and in his mid-forties, which matches the description my client gave me of the target, excluding the name. I assume it is fake, one which he must have given himself when he had arrived, unsurprising for someone attempting to disappear.

But most importantly, there was another piece of key information.

 _His home address._

* * *

The breeze, now cooler than before since the sun went down, massaged Thane's senses as he casually strode towards his prefab, his _home_. It was cathartic, looking up into the starry night sky, taking in the vast and endless amount of possibilities the universe had to offer, creating good memories for the first time in what seemed like years.

As Thane arrived at his front door, he noticed that it was still unlocked, which he found strange but convinced himself that Lusia must have just forgotten to lock it again. There were no thieves in this colony anyways; many people left their doors unlocked indefinitely.

Yet, as he opened the door, Thane knew something was wrong. Although the sweet aroma of the fruit that he was expecting was present, it was also accompanied by something, unfortunately, much more familiar to him. _Asari blood._

Thane took a few cautious steps inside the dark, unlit prefab, wishing for the first time in months something he had hoped he would never wish for again; _a firearm._ He had disposed of all of them before entering the colony. Without a weapon, even for an assassin, a _former_ assassin, of his calibre, facing an armed foe in an even environment was a risk.

But a biotic was _never_ completely unarmed.

Thane flared his biotics in a low hum, both to prepare himself for an incoming attack and to use as a light source in the otherwise near pitch black hallway, the light controls not responding to his repeated attempts to switch them on through his omnitool. He silently crept through to the main room where the window shades were shut, the combined scent of nectar and blood intensifying with every step, until eventually he arrived at what he had feared he would.

Lusia's body in a messy heap of purple, with her rucksack seemingly dropped abruptly on the floor, a few of the fruits spilling and rolling out, every detail of the scene being burnt into his memory. A lone slug to the forehead. Close range.

Then, he heard a shift, a _subtle_ shift, to his left, and without thinking or hesitation, Thane rolled to the right and over the dining table, the instant reaction burned into his permanent muscle memory over the years. But the sound that came next was unlike any he had heard made by a firearm in the past. There was no loud crack, nor was there anything that resembled a silenced gush of air. Only a deep thud.

Barely making it over the counter, Thane crashed to the ground as he heard the slug hit the counter, safe for the time being with an obstacle between his attacker and himself. Or so he thought. A sharp pain stung into his side, forcing him to instinctively clutch it; blood. The attacker had managed to hit both the counter and himself in one shot, which could only mean that his enemy was wielding a shotgun, contrary to the dull noise that it had made when fired.

Thane knew how lucky he was to have escaped a hit from a shotgun at such a close range with only a non-fatal wound. Well, he hadn't escaped _yet_. Suppressing thoughts of the excruciating pain at his side, he returned his focus to the battle, listening for the attacker's footsteps but not hearing any. Thane knew that revealing any part of his body would mean almost certain death and there were no hidden weapons around, which left only one option.

* * *

I stand still, my shotgun pointing in the general direction of the counter, so that I can react and shoot the drell no matter what side he might peek from. There are no reflective surfaces in this room and no shadows, so if I keep quiet, there is no reasonable way for him to narrow down my position well enough to deliver an attack.

My thoughts are cut short as I am suddenly hit by a wave of biotic force that curved from behind and over the counter, sending me flying backwards into the wall. I quickly gather myself, ignoring the damaged inflicted from slamming my head against the wall, rushing towards behind the counter with my shotgun held steady. I had several seconds of cool down time to take advantage of before he had the opportunity to hit me with another biotic attack.

But the target was nowhere to be seen.

An open ventilation shaft, just above the ground.

* * *

It was a tight squeeze, even for a master assassin like Thane, hampering his progress through the shaft towards escape. His bleeding wound wasn't helping either.

The same dull thud echoed through the shaft, accompanied by the sound of the prefab's metallic walls being punctured, forcing Thane to move faster, almost at a scramble. A volley of shots tore through the shaft, mere inches away from his head; armour piercing rounds.

One last vertical stretch of cramped space remained, through which he biotically lifted himself, blasting out the fan covering the opening and out to freedom.

Crash landing hard onto the ground below him, Thane struggled to drag himself back up to his feet; without armour or any medigel, the wound was becoming more than just a serious burden. He was feeling light headed and he would bleed out soon without help. Applying as much pressure as he could with his bare palm onto the wound, Thane limped through the now empty neighbourhood, but the wound was worse than he had initially thought. The pressure didn't help, he realised, feeling his blood flow through between his fingers and onto the floor at an alarming rate.

It wasn't long before he collapsed.


End file.
